


Scratches On His Soul

by Vaal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Couch Cuddles, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3101588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaal/pseuds/Vaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's return to having complex thoughts after being enslaved by his animal brain for the better part of six months is slow. Sometimes he just needs to get away from the city, from the sounds and the sweltering presence of so many people around him. Sometimes Stiles goes with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scratches On His Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



Peter gets antsy if he doesn't get to go out to the preserve to burn off the excess energy and anxiety that seems to dog his steps ever since returning to his human body and less primitive state of mind.  
  
A lot of the time, he goes on his own—will disappear for a couple of hours and return with mud and leaves and moss in his hair. Sometimes, though it's not often, Stiles accompanies him out to the forest, just to see how happy Peter is to be out in nature.  
  
The way he acts reminds Stiles of when Peter was more lupine than anything else. He fidgets in the jeep up until they can get to the preserve, and then does tiny, giddy hop-steps as he shucks out of his shirt and shoes, shooting Stiles little glances as he goes.  
  
One of Peter's favourite activities when Stiles is out there with him is to play hide and seek, where Peter will push and shove and bump and nudge him until he takes off into the trees.  
  
Peter always lets him have a good fifteen minute head start to account for his lack of supernatural speed, though he always catches up in less than that. Both of them always go home with scrapes and bruises from the dense underbrush slapping cuts onto their skin as they run.  
  
Stiles's back always looks way worse than Peter's, because Peter tends to get a little too carried away, what with all the nature and the freedom that gets his heart pumping and the blood in his veins soaring. He's always a little more frisky when Stiles is there—just there for the taking he says.  
  
Half of the scratches Stiles will go home with are from the chase alone. He starts ditching clothes, trying to trick Peter into going the wrong way to make the game last longer.  
  
He doesn't pauses to watch where his pants land as he peels them off and flings them as far as possible: just runs, runs, runs, and tries to stifle his breathless panting and the giddy laughter he gets from being chased.  
  
He's always filled with energy, with the feeling of life, on days when he goes with Peter to the woods. He always has so much fun running further and deeper into the preserve.  
  
Here, he feels so free and happy that when Peter finally tackles him, taking him down and rolling them until he has Stiles trapped in his arms, Stiles just shrieks and laughs, burrows closer.  
  
It doesn't matter that there are leaves and twigs and pebbles, or that there may or may not be a root digging into the small of his back; when Peter smiles down at him before raining sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his throat and starts to frot in the v of his legs, Stiles could care less about the location or any discomfort he may feel.  
  
He'll bitch about all the little aches later, make Peter draw him a bath and help him get clean, soothe his abused skin. Right now, though, he just arches in Peter's hold and enjoys the wild, exuberant passion being lavished upon him.  
  
He makes sure to scratch a couple of his own marks into Peter's skin. They'll fade, but it'll take a couple of hours, and in the meantime, when they get back home, Stiles will drag Peter into the shower, blow him long and slow until he's got Peter on the brink of begging, and then kiss each and every mark he's made, angry and pink, on his way back up.  
  
Stiles loves marking Peter up—there's something about the temporary ownership of those marks that gets him going, and the way Peter loves it, too, drives him absolutely wild.  
  
Peter never asks for it with his words, but when Stiles latches his mouth onto the curve of his shoulder, he whines low in his throat, and when Stiles starts to suck, drawing his tongue over the patch of skin in his possession, Peter shudders and grabs Stiles closer until he can feel the prick of claws against his neck, on the swell of his bottom. It's those things that tell him that Peter enjoys this little game of his just as much as Stiles.  
  
Sometimes Peter will dress the wounds in wolfsbane: force the marks to stay visible on his skin for the whole day. They're always gone the next morning, when Peter falls asleep and can no longer apply the salve to regulate the rate of his body taking care of the damages. They both enjoy the hours that gives them, and drown in the lassitude of long, silent moments of bliss when Stiles traces each of the marks he left with long fingers and wet mouth.  
  
When Peter doesn't doctor the marks and Stiles notices the hickeys fading on the back of Peter's neck, he'll sneak up on the werewolf, wrap his arms around his torso and bite the marks back into place, unwilling to let them fade like Peter's body wants them to.  
  
Peter always stills when Stiles does this: stops breathing for the span of three heartbeats, and then melts into Stiles's embrace like putty, leaning all of his weight against his human. Stiles always takes it, strokes up Peter's chest until he can brush his thumb along the hinge of Peter's jaw, turn his head so Stiles can press slow, lingering kisses to his lips.  
  
From there, it's easy to drag Peter over to the couch. He always ends up with the werewolf draped over him like a blanket, head buried in Stiles's neck with some movie or other on in the background. They seldom ever move until Stiles's stomach makes gurgling noises and he can feel Peter's smile against his skin.  
  
Then, and only then, will Peter pull back, smirk in place as he comments on growing boys needing protein if they ever wanted to bulk up.  
  
That's when Stiles knows his Peter is back, is good for the next couple of days.  
  
Just because he can, Stiles may mention that Peter already gave him his protein shot for the day in the shower, and earlier still in the woods. He revels in the lascivious grin that earns him, and laughs his way to the kitchen.  
  
And life goes on.


End file.
